


Slippery slope

by LostinFic



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinFic/pseuds/LostinFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet during the True Love cast party, steal a bottle whiskey and get close. Angsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He tries not to run straight to her when he enters the room. There’s a telltale knot in the pit of his stomach. It’s like the few seconds between the moment when you sit in the roller coaster wagon and that first lurch when it starts moving. It’s scary and exciting and pleasant all at once. Spine-tingling.

 

It’s a casual cast party for a mini-series they’re both in but not in the same episode. ( _His agent certainly knew what he was doing when he mentioned Billie_.) He talks to people without really listening and drinks his beer too fast. Every once in a while, he catches a glimpse of a leopard print scarf or of a dulcet laughter that makes him lose track of reality.

 

So it’s a slippery slope because he never knows if he’ll be able to stop himself when Billie is around. He considers avoiding her altogether just to prove he can ( _but who’s he kidding? One look at her and he’s already slipping_ ).

 

Billie comes up to him first and he feels like it’s a small victory. She’s having none of that avoiding temptation nonsense.

 

“Be honest, what do you think of the brown hair?” she asks right away.

He wraps a strand around his finger and she tilts her head towards his palm ( _slippery slope_ ). She’s gorgeous whatever her hair colour.

“It’s a bit… bland.”

“Well, I like you better with sideburns,” she replies, cheekily.

He realizes his whole hand is buried in her hair by now ( _how does he always end up with his hands upon her?_ ).  He takes it back but she catches it and leads him away from the crowd.

“They’re about to start the screening,” he protests weakly.

“And I’ve got the good whiskey.”

That mischievous smile is what always gets him in trouble. ( _Slipping, slipping_ …)

 

The night is grey, the back alley like a charcoal drawing, the only light is a harsh neon above the door.

“I’ve already seen your episode anyway,” David says.

He lays his coat down at the top of the dirty steps so they can sit down.

“How d’you mean? It hasn’t aired yet.”

“Charmed my way into it: sexiest man in the universe, me.” He pulls on his shirt collar, looking smug.

“Oh get over it Tennant, that was 6 years ago.”

“Doesn’t matter, I only get better with age.”

He leans back on his elbows.

“Can’t argue with that,” she replies shyly, taking him by surprise.

But that’s Bills: boldly flirting one second and all shyness and blushes the next. She takes a sip straight from the bottle and hands him the whiskey.

 

“So what did you think?”

Ever since they first worked together she’s always relied on him when it comes to acting.

“You were great, your performance went straight to my heart.”

“Nah, you’re just saying that, it was awful, improv’s not for me.” She grimaces.

They’ve been through this before – she can’t take a compliment, always second guesses herself – and it riles him up every time.

“Bloody hell, Bills, why do you ask if you don’t believe me? Don’t you trust me?”

She shrugs and digs in her purse to find her cigarettes. He takes her hands away before she can distract herself and change the subject. He knows her too well now and he’s going through with it this time.

“Would you rather I criticized you and pointed out everything you did wrong like he does? ‘Cause I’m not going to — even if that’d be easier for you to believe. Your performance was flawless,” he adds, sincerely.

She lays her forehead against his bony shoulder, hiding her face, unable to stand the look in his eyes and the way his words make her heart feel too small — inadequate — for his affection.

“I mean it,” he whispers in her hair.

 

She wonders if he knows how much she needs his approval (even though part of her rebels at the thought). She has, ever since their first scene together. She kisses the corner of his mouth because that’s the least inappropriate thing she can do. She tastes the whiskey on his breath and feels his scruff against her nose. She nuzzles his cheek for a second before pulling away and it feels like a string pulling at her heart. His lips chase after hers resulting in an awkward but chaste kiss that makes him laugh bitterly at himself. ( _He has no control._ )

 

He wraps an arm around her shoulders in a familiar way and considers telling her how magnificent, gorgeous, talented, smart and funny he truly thinks she is. Instead he makes a comment about her new habit of kissing girls on screen and they return to their usual banter. They never talk about anything important. Half of what he says is meaningless but he says it just to get her attention. Her whiskey eyes warm him all over and make him lightheaded. When he runs out of unimportant topics, he rests his chin on top her head and the muffled noises of the city fill the silence.

 

Somewhere in London, people are waiting for them to come home.

 

In moments like these, Billie remembers Russell’s comment that David and her always seem to be in a world of their own.

 

The party has finished a long time ago and it’s starting to rain. They’re both shivering; the half drunk bottle of whiskey and their embrace are not enough to warm them anymore. They’re in no state to go back home.

 

“Let’s go somewhere,” David suggests, laboriously standing up and putting on his coat.

She follows him onto the street where they’re assaulted by cars splashing through puddles of water, brightly lit signs, and the acrid smell of gasoline. They huddle in an attempt to fend off the exterior world.

 

They enter the first restaurant they come across. It’s an unpretentious snack-bar – Formica tables, faded posters of James Bond and low lights -- the perfect place to sober up. But then again, he always feels a bit drunk when he’s around her – less in control of his body. She slides right next to him in the booth, her floral perfume mixing with the smell of greasy chips.

 

He orders a tea for himself and a coffee for her and they get a similar greyish concoction in cups that aren’t quite white anymore. It makes her laugh, it’s all that matters.

 

“I’ve seen your episode too... Interesting topic,” she says tentatively, the words coming out more sluggish and less nonchalant than she had intended.

He’s very aware of the sensitive subject matter and he tries to find his footing, regain some balance. Maybe if he doesn’t look at her... He picks at the corner of his paper placemat.

“Wasn’t a pleasant process, preparing for that role.”

“How d’you mean?”

Her soft voice tickles his ear and makes him lean against her shoulder.

“Had to do a bit of soul searching… I’d never cheat on my wife but that’s probably the kind of thing my character used to think.” He focuses on the spoon moving by itself in his cup, carried by the whirling tea. “I pretty much had to take a good look at myself and wonder what it would take for me to cheat… how, why, with whom… very unpleasant. I think I preferred preparing for the stalker boyfriend part.”

“And it all depends on your definition of cheating…” Billie says.

 

Her words hang heavily in the air between them. He knows exactly what she means; he’s had that argument with himself more than once. Where does it start? Hadn’t someone once said that if you don’t talk about it with your significant other, it’s a good sign that what you’re doing is wrong? ( _There goes that slippery slope again because he probably won’t tell his wife that he got drunk with Billie in a back alley, kissed her and talked with her until early morning instead of attending the cast party he was supposed to_.)

 

She’s too curious and high on the proximity to refrain from asking him what it would take for him to cheat.

 “You’re a nosey one, Piper.” She smiles, her tongue peaking out between her teeth. “Well, if you _must_ know I came to the conclusion that it couldn’t be just sexual. They’re would have to be a … well, a sort of… emotional connection with the other person.”

She nods emphatically.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“It’d have to be someone I love…”

Their eyes meet and he’s not just slipping now, he’s completely lost control.

 

Billie feels that overwhelming feeling in her chest again. They’re talking about that thing they’re both aware of but never talk about. She’s feeling bold, maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe it’s his hand now resting above her knee, the warmth of it, the length of his fingers she wants to feel digging in her flesh.

“D’you think it’s possible to love two people at the same time?” she asks, looking at him through her eyelashes, the perfect picture of innocence. And it’s killing him that look. How can she play a whore on the telly and give him this look at 2 am in a dodgy chippy?

 

“I think there’s always one you love more than the other,” David replies, his heart beating wildly in his chest, like he’s standing on the edge of a precipice. He feels light-headed and his hand curls around her inner thigh like he’s trying to anchor himself. ( _This is it, the end of the slope, if he’s going to break his neck he might as well enjoy the fall_.)

 

His words are like a cold shower to Billie. Of course, there’s one he loves more, he didn’t marry her after all, never even took her out on a proper date.

“I should get back home,” she says, her voice quivering.

Before he understands what’s going on, she’s out the door. ( _His neck is fine but he can’t say as much of his heart._ )

 

 The next day, she sees the finger shaped bruises on her inner thigh and she can’t hold back the tears. She thinks she’s glad she married the one whose love she’s more adequate for.


	2. Chapter 2

_Previously:_

_“D’you think it’s possible to love two people at the same time?” she asks, looking at him through her eyelashes, the perfect picture of innocence. And it’s killing him that look. How can she play a whore on the telly and give him this look at 2 am in a dodgy chippy?_

_“I think there’s always one you love more than the other,” David replies, his heart beating wildly in his chest, like he’s standing on the edge of a precipice. He feels light-headed and his hand curls around her inner thigh like he’s trying to anchor himself. (This is it, the end of the slope, if he’s going to break his neck he might as well enjoy the fall.)_

_His words are like a cold shower to Billie. Of course, there’s one he loves more, he didn’t marry her after all, never even took her out on a proper date._

_“I should get back home,” she says, her voice quivering._

_Before he understands what’s going on, she’s out the door. (His neck is fine but he can’t say as much of his heart.)_

_The next day, she sees the finger shaped bruises on her inner thigh and she can’t hold back the tears. She thinks she’s glad she married the one whose love she’s more adequate for_.

 

* * *

 

At first David thinks she rejected him and by the time he understands what really happened, two months have gone by. His first idea is to run to her house and knock on her door and tell her: “It’s you! It’s you I love the most!” but he has no idea what would happen next. They’re both married, so maybe this misunderstanding is a blessing in disguise.

 

Then why does he feel like shit?

 

When he’s invited to Russell’s birthday party, his first thought it that Billie might be there as well. It doesn’t even occur to him to say no, to avoid her. He spends the day with butterflies in his stomach and too much energy, bouncing around the house, unable to stay focused on any task. The only thought he can focus on for any length of time is of Billie. His mind runs wild with scenarios ranging from catastrophic to R-rated. He doesn’t shave because she likes his scruff and he changes his shirt five times, finally deciding on the pinstripe _Lacoste_. The one she touched because it looked soft -- ages ago. His fingers drum on the seat of the black cab as he makes his way to the party through the rainy London night.  

 

He exchanges the usual pleasantries with the other guests and wishes Russell a happy birthday but he’s distracted. His eyes scan the crowd, searching for shiny blond hair (or are they still brown? He hates that he doesn’t know). There’s a pang in his heart when he admits that she’s absent. There’s not a doubt in his mind that it’s because she knew he would be there. There was a time when they wouldn't have missed an opportunity (an excuse) to meet, going as far as provoking these opportunities. Gone are those days.

 

He drops on the leather couch next to Euros and sulks over his glass of Chianti. He considers his options: he said he would be back late so he can’t leave the party right away, if he does leave, he has to find somewhere to go for the next couple of hours. Going to Billie’s house is his first thought but he dismisses it right away. Instead, he checks out the local cinema listings on his phone. There’s a horror movie starting in fifteen minutes just around the corner. That would suit his mood.

 

He considers the best way to reach the front door and avoid a maximum of people. He reckons that, although it’s not the shortest route, he should go up the stairs on his left and come down the staircase by the door. He scans the room one last time as he gets up but to no avail. 

 

The second floor is silent and he walks briskly along the wallpapered corridor. When he turns the corner to the staircase, he bumps straight into someone coming up. It’s Julie and he can’t avoid chatting with her. As she asks what he’s been up to lately, he catches a glimpse of golden locks and dark frame glasses coming through the front door. His heartbeat triples.

“All right?” Julie asks.

“Yeah, well no – I just – It’s –“

And he rushes down the stairs. 

 

It’s her. He didn’t hallucinate.

“I meant you,” he blurts out.

She turns to him, looking somewhat shocked by his sudden appearance. But her features soften as he comes closer and there’s a hint of a smile that gives him hope.

“I meant you, when I said –”

“I know.”

The words catch in her throat. She takes his face in her hands, her fingers are cold from the April night and she warms them on his heated cheeks. The way she’s looking at him makes his heart clench. For once in his life, David is speechless. Kissing her is the only thing on his mind. It’s not a daydream or an abstraction or work, it’s Billie and him and it’s real. He places his hands on her waist and leans towards her.

 

The sound of approaching footsteps and chatter makes him snap out of it. As if reading his mind, she takes his hand and they bound up the stairs in search of more privacy. Thankfully, Julie has gone and the second floor seems empty. With his hands on her hips, he presses her against the nearest wall. She licks her red lips and the innocuous action inflames him. His grip on her hips tightens. Her lips are glossy and parted and ripe for the picking.

“What are you waiting for?”

His only answer is to capture her mouth and kiss her as fervently as he’s dreamed of. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him right back without any hesitation. He feels her smile against his lips. Effervescent feelings stir in them until they’re both laughing and kissing. Drinking each other’s happiness. Then the humour fades, their lips move more purposefully, more greedily. His hand snakes up her waist to feel her breast and a tiny moan escapes her throat.

“We should take this somewhere else,” she whispers.

 

She walks ahead of him, looking over her shoulder to make sure he’s following. Of fucking course, he is. He loves the naughty half-smile on her kiss-swollen lips, he loves that she’s wearing a t-shirt over a dress at a party where everyone poshed up and he loves that little giggle of excitement when she opens the door to the guest bedroom.

 

A window was left opened and the room smells of rain, the cool draft makes the curtains float, the only movement in the room as they both stand in the dark. It’s a strange -- suspended – moment, all darkness and heartbeats. One last chance to back off and go home unsullied.

 

There is too much to say and so little time and actions speak louder than words anyway. David crosses the few steps that separate them, their bodies collide and they get right back where they were; Hands groping and mouths devouring. The full force of repressed desires submerges them. Her hands delve in his hair as his tongue coax her lips opened.

 

There’s that coil in his lower abdomen that makes him back her against the nearest piece of furniture, knocking the lamp off the nightstand. Already, David’s hands are reaching the hem of her dress, disappearing under the fabric, to knead the cushy flesh of her thighs and bum, fingers digging in possessively. Her hips jerk, pushing into his partial erection. He groans against her neck. They grind into each other. The friction offers only superficial relief. Billie slides her hands under his shirt, roaming his taut abdomen and teasing along the waistband of his jeans.

“Bills,” he groans her name, “if you don’t want to, you have to say it now.”

“I want to. We’re in this together.”

 

Together. He likes the sound of that.

 

David makes her recline on the bedside table and tugs her sodden knickers down her legs. His eager fingers find her center immediately, gliding through her wet folds. She stifles her moans in his shoulder, biting through his shirt. She enjoys his deft fingers playing on her responsive skin. Sadly, they don’t have much time and she needs more. Making quick work of his belt and zipper, she finally feels the full weight and length of him in her palm. Only a few strokes are necessary to make him fully hard and she guides him in her without a second thought.

 

Once they are connected, they still. Ragged breaths mingle between them as their eyes meet. The full signification of the moment hits him; he’s never felt his heart so full. He rests his forehead on hers and she reaches for his hand, entwining their fingers. Together. They start moving their hips at the same time, slowly at first, sweet torture. Before long, she’s urging him on with her hand on his arse. Her nails leave red crescents on his white skin and she nips his lower lip, sending him in a frenzy. The nightstand knocks against the wall, the bang barely covering their grunts as he thrusts in her faster and harder. He moves his thumb to increase her pleasure, hoping he won’t lose it before she does. He bites down on her neck and he feels her clench and shiver around him, chanting his name. He lets go, groaning through his release.

 

They kiss lazily, tenderly, laughing softly again. And he wants to hold on to that smile and that laugh because he knows all too well what comes next. She cups his cheek, stroking his scruffy skin with her thumb, not quite looking him in the eyes and says:

“Let’s pretend it was just sex.”


End file.
